


Into Darkness

by Axisunicorn



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo just wants to be loved, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Dark fic, Khan is a horrible person in this fic, Leia Organa is too busy being a politician, M/M, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, So much angst, Young Ben Solo, nothing about this story is nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axisunicorn/pseuds/Axisunicorn
Summary: Young Ben Solo is captured while on his way to meet the mysterious Snoke. Unable to contact Snoke or anyone else through the Force, Ben is held captive and tortured by the man known as Khan. So begins his descent into darkness, away from the watchful eyes of the Skywalkers. Left to the devices of a damaged but brilliant psychopath who desires nothing more than to break him bit by bit, Ben Solo begins his transformation into Kylo Ren, for good or ill. He was a boy who had wanted nothing more than to be cared for and loved, but sometimes love is best learned through hatred.





	1. A Call Through the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Ben is 15 in this fic. Khan will be based mainly off of the Khan we know from Star Trek: Into Darkness, though there may be some older references here and there. Khan's predilection for children/teens will be explained in later chapters. Please read the tags; this story will regularly feature rape/torture among other things and there will be no content warning at the beginning of chapters.

It was that insidious voice in his mind that started it. Laying in his hut at night, staring upward into the black, when his doubts and fears were able to finally overtake him, that man, the nameless man, sidled up against his consciousness and latched on. The voice whispered dark things, dangerous things. All the truths seemed to be laid bare, ugly and glittering, even in the cover of night. 

_Your uncle hates you_ , the voice told him. _He despises you. He is envious of your power, frightened of it,_ the man intoned. _He will destroy you!_

The voice itself was enough to send a shiver of terror down his spine, and even having heard it nearly every night since he had arrived to be trained by Luke, he couldn’t help becoming frozen in fear each time it crept in, breath hitching in his throat, as the words bled into his brain. 

He knew Luke was suspicious of him. Ben’s every move was catalogued and stored away for later. Over time it got harder and harder to temper his rage, especially when his uncle constantly held him back. Despite being more skilled than the other students, he was felt ostracized and unsure. Luke did not love him; of that much he was certain. As the months passed, Ben began to believe that perhaps the Jedi Master even hated him. That voice late at night did nothing to assuage his fears, and even repeating the Jedi Code to himself again and again as he lay motionless in his hut, did not quell the paranoia that had begun to poison him. 

Soon, young Ben Solo felt that dark presence even as he trained. Even when he practiced lifting the stupid stones under the watchful, judgmental gaze of the older Skywalker, he felt something pulse at the base of his skull, lodged there like a tick. It seemed to fatten and fester with time, becoming something of a dull ache that made him wince each morning when he walked out into the daylight to sit cross-legged in the empty training hall.

That fateful night, the one with the flash of green and the angry conviction marring his uncle’s face, became the stuff of night terrors. Even when he escaped that forsaken rock, hurtling through space for weeks, nearly every night was spent covered in a paranoid sweat, wherein he awoke with shaking hands and a pounding heart, vision filled with violent green. 

His pathetic ship (if it could even be called that), had never made it to its intended destination. The coordinates dictated by his mysterious benefactor were for a backwater planet with a constant lava flow, located at the edge of space as he knew it, far away from the well-lit and populated planets he had known as a small child. 

The scavengers overtook him easily. Even with their ramshackle transport craft, held together with rusted bits of debris probably lifted from Old Republic ships, they were faster and more efficient. He barely had time to get to the console before they dragged his sorry excuse for ship into their hull. He had no weapons, no means of defense besides the Force itself, of which he was poorly trained. 

He managed to fight off the first few that came through, but a blaster to his head halted his instincts to fight. Collared and restrained, he was the most helpless he had ever been. That night he had prayed to the Force, prayed that someone would find him, Luke, the dark voice, it didn’t matter. He was afraid then, more than he had ever been. He wished for his mother. He cried like the child he was, too distraught to chastise himself for the show of weakness. 

Everyone knew what scavengers did with children and teens they pillaged from ships and villages. He tried not to think about it. 

Drugged and weakened, they had displayed him nude in front of an overcrowded, smoke-filled room. He could barely hear the voices through his haze. His body shook uncontrollably. Even standing was difficult. His wrists were bruised from the cuffs, and the collar around his throat seemed to be leeching at his very being. He should have been horrified of the gawking and leering men and women, politicians and professional scoundrels alike, but the true kick to the gut was that he could no longer feel it. The Force. Something inside him broke then. Everything that mattered was gone. The one connection that he had, the one thing that had never failed him, was gone. He couldn’t hear that voice anymore either, not without the embrace of the Force. He was well and truly cut off. 

For three nights he was kept naked and unwashed in a cold metal room. He barely knew what was happening. There was a bowl of water in the corner. He would crawl to it on his knees, the metal flooring biting into his skin and leaving purple marks and sore flesh. His hands had been cuffed behind his back at some point he couldn’t recall, so he was unable to lift the bowl. He was forced to lean down onto a shoulder and try to hold his head high enough so that he could get a drink without inhaling water. After several long gulps of the tepid, chemically liquid, he rolled onto his back, gasping as the cuffs pressed into his spine. 

He was cold and hungry, and with time it was becoming even more desperate as the drugs they had given him began to subside. But there was something in the water as well---he could taste it. Given his circumstances, he had little choice but to drink it or risk dehydration, of which had already partially descended upon him, leaving his head achy and limbs wobbly. 

His mind was clearing, and a dread had started to settle in his stomach, heavy and greasy, making him feel sick. He remembered the auction, mostly loud voices, garish faces and outfits. He had been sold, but to whom? They knew he was a Force user; the collar had completely dampened his connection, but he knew it was unlikely to be permanent. Who would pay money for a Force user? A mercenary group? A collector? Did people collect children and teens like him? 

There were rumors back home that there was a network of child traffickers that worked with the scavengers and sold to rich barons and forgotten princes. Enough children and teenagers had disappeared over the years that even Leia Organa had seen to it that an associate of hers always shadowed her son. He had known those people better than he knew his own mother, as she was rarely around and far too busy with politics to bother with her only son.

Whatever his situation was, he knew it was dire. There was little hope of talking to or communicating with anyone, not without the Force. He needed to remove the collar somehow. They couldn’t keep him chained forever, could they? He tried not to imagine what reasons someone might have to keep him in a room with provisions that were little better than what one might give a dog. There was a scrap of fabric, not enough to be called a blanket. It appeared to be an old shirt, parts of it hardened with a brownish splatter. He had been privileged as a youth, back before being left to his uncle, but even he knew blood when he saw it. 

He tried to focus, strangely enough finding the Jedi Master’s teachings useful for once. He counted the lights overhead, listed the shapes and colors in his mind (there weren’t many), and he internally catalogued his body, from the top of his head down to his toes, drawing his consciousness away from the cuffs that bit into his spine and wrists. 

It had been hours. How long, he didn’t know. He had gone to the bowl of water several times, nearly exhausting the resource, and struggling to keep himself from drinking the last of it, as his empty stomach rumbled and complained into the silence. He urinated on the floor, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he lay on his side and it splashed him slightly while he aimed for a conveniently placed drain. There was a detachable showerhead in one of the corners, though there were no towels. He had writhed and struggled for several minutes with the knob, trying to turn it with his hands cuffed behind his back, but had been disappointed to discover that the water must have been shut off. 

When the door opened, it startled Ben out of his half sleep. He jumped visibly, metal clanking. He was swaddled in the bloody shirt, but it did nothing to cover his nakedness. He swallowed, taking in the black, polished boots and the scent of leather. His nostrils flared as his gaze traveled up the black, pressed pants, to the fitted, ribbed, long sleeves of the shirt. A billowing cloak fell all the way to the man’s ankles, made of some heavy fabric (wool?) that smelled vaguely of smoke. The man’s hair was dark and shortly cut, bringing more attention to his angular face. The eyes were azure, but there was no warmth there, only cold calculation. The icy gaze fell over his prone body, taking in his gangly form mottled with bruises. 

“You stink of urine,” the man commented, grabbing the collar around Ben’s neck and forcefully pulling him to his feet. 

Ben staggered, held up almost entirely by the strange man, his weakened body still suffering from the effects of whatever he had been given before, and the nights of laying on a cold floor. He immediately fell to the ground when the man’s hand released him, hitting with a metallic bang that made his teeth clack together.

Scalding water hit his face before he was able to scramble away, and a black boot swiftly stepped onto his stomach, the heel digging in and making him cry out. The water was so hot that he could feel it burning his skin, and he cinched his eyes shut, trying to avoid the spray. 

“Please! Stop!” he begged, turning his face away. 

The boot dug in harder as he struggled, and he tried in vain to roll over, only to be shoved and then grabbed by his cuffs. He was moaning in pain as the water continued to move over him, not noticing that the man had knelt beside him, one hand holding his cuffs, and the other the shower head. Ben felt as though his skin must be bubbling and blistering under the heat.

“Stay still,” the man ordered calmly, releasing the cuffs for a moment.

The spray of water stopped momentarily, leaving Ben reeling. He panted in pain, lifting his head slightly to watch the man press something on the wall. He came back with a bar of soap and a brush. Instinctively, Ben moved away, eyes wide. 

“My parents…” he stammered stupidly. “Do you know w—who I am?” he said.

The only sound that could be heard was the drip of water. The cold eyes were fixed on him, and the lips thinned into an imitation of a smile, curled sinisterly at the edges. Ben felt a cold spike of fear stab through him, even in the steamy room. 

“I told you to stay still.” Commanding. 

“Look,” Ben said, getting braver because he had gotten the man talking, “they could pay you. My mom, she---“

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as he was hit across the face with the metal of the shower head. The blow was so powerful that it left him dazed. He could feel blood fill his mouth from his cheek where it had been pressed into his teeth. He gasped in pain, barely able to hold up his head through the searing agony. He blinked through tears, unable to move away again as a boot once more pressed into his abdomen. The man pushed the toe into Ben’s ribs, his face expressionless. 

Black hair clung to Ben’s face as he looked up at his captor, real fear coiling around the back of his brain. He yelped as the boot shoved down on his ribs, enough to make them contract down. He felt crushed, and his arms were trapped underneath him, aching horribly. Just as quickly the boot moved away. The man knelt down beside him, his scratchy, black cloak tickling at Ben’s chest. His face was inches away from the teen’s, one hand holding onto the collar around Ben’s neck. 

“I don’t care who your parents are.” Wet, soapy fingers began probing between Ben’s legs, punctuated by words, “Here you are no one.”

Ben couldn’t keep himself from flinching, even through the cloud of pain. The fingers were slick, and it only took seconds before he felt a burning intrusion. 

“No! Wait! Please!” 

The part of Ben that was repulsed by weakness seemed to have fled him in that moment. More tears sprung to his eyes. The feeling of something foreign pushing into him sent him into a panic. He tried to move, but the hand on his collar shoved him into the metal floor. The digits began moving in and out, increasing that awful burn that made him arch in protest. The fingers begin to rub earnestly at a spot inside him, making him jolt in his cuffs. The hand that was on his collar, buried itself in his hair, grabbing at the wet locks with an iron grip that made Ben wince. 

“Good,” the man said breathily, his gaze focused on Ben’s mouth.

Ben grunted when the fingers pushed deeper, cheeks wet with tears and red from shame and the heat of the room. He could do nothing but lay there, blood in his mouth, head pounding, as he was forced to accept what was happening. He tried not to think about it, tried to stare at the ceiling and away from the man, but the hand in his hair jerked him so that he had nowhere else to look. 

The dull blue eyes were hard to meet. He wanted to be anywhere than where he was. 

“You’re a pretty boy, Ben,” the man commented, face still horribly expressionless. “And so warm, aren’t you?”

Ben whimpered pathetically, trying to move his head, only to have those fingers bite into his scalp. He had never had sex; it was forbidden amongst the Jedi. Even before he was sent to his uncle, he had never even had the opportunity. And with a man? That was even worse. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of sex; he thought of it often. He spent many nights guiltily mopping up his mess after he had thought of one of the girls back at school. Even after being punished for his transgressions as a child, he couldn’t stop, and much like the voice that haunted his nights, he couldn’t seem to say no to the dark. Lust, perversions, those were the realms of the Sith, not a child of a Skywalker---that’s what Luke would say. He always felt waves of shame, but even then, the pleasure of release had been too tantalizing. He couldn’t resist.

The demanding fingers stretching him open, however, were different. There was nothing sexual about it, only fear and pain. He sobbed loudly as the fingers withdrew for a moment. The same hand reached for the bar of soap, digits foaming it up deftly. 

The fingers were slender and pale, and for some reason he had an image in his mind of a white spider. When the same hand began tugging at his cock, he gasped in surprise, unintentionally bucking upward. They were slippery, and even with the burning on his skin from the water, and the soreness of his face, he could feel a sudden wave of pleasure that made the hairs on his body prickle. The hand squeezed him gently, making him pant almost instantly. Warmth was pooling in his stomach, even as he continued to cry. The sound of wet skin was loud in the quiet room, and Ben could do nothing but lay back, dismayed, as his cock began to harden. 

His moans of pain changed to sighs and gasps. He shuddered as the hand in his scalp relented, fingertips brushing at his cheeks and jaw in a way his mother might have caressed him. It felt sick and wrong, but he was taken aback by the sudden gentleness. Ben knew better than to struggle, afraid of even more retaliation from his dark haired captor.

It didn’t take long before he guiltily pulsed into the man’s hand, crying out through a haze of confusion and half-masted shame, as his pelvis stiffened and he felt the wonderful waves of pleasure through each squeeze and pump of the man’s hand. He was panting, eyes half shut, and lips parted. His wet hair felt slimy against his forehead, especially when his captor’s other hand pushed it behind his ears. 

Ben felt weakened even further. His legs were shaky from strain, and he could feel the semen cooling on his stomach. The man moved away for a second, and then suddenly the hard bristles of a brush were on him. Ben didn’t fight this time, even as the brush scraped at his already sensitive skin. He barely moved at all as he was slowly, methodically scrubbed. The soap was pungent, burning at his nostrils. He shied away from the hot water as it scalded him again, but it was much quicker than before. A warm hand rubbed at the excess soap, wiping it off his slender frame with the help of the beam of water. Finally, it was done. Ben didn’t even notice where the man got the fluffy towel from, and continued to remain motionless as he was dried off. 

“I imagine you’re hungry.” 

“Yes,” Ben answered quietly, feeling like he wasn’t even in the room. 

Ben didn’t want to think about what was going to happen to him, what had just happened. He felt numb and apathetic, his body singing in pain. His jaw felt like it would soon be swollen shut. It hurt even to speak the one word. The cuffs were still painfully pressed into his back. 

He didn’t want to get hit again, that much he knew. Despite being neglected by his mother and virtually abandoned by his father, Ben had never been physically abused. The most pain he knew was a scrapped knee and the one occasion he had broken his arm sliding down a bannister at one of his mother’s political rallies. She had been so angry, scolding him for months about his “reckless” behavior and the bad publicity it caused. Who in their right mind would back someone who didn’t have control of their own son? She had asked him that more than once. No one had signed his cast. 

Ben almost fell asleep on the floor then, eyes shutting involuntarily. He flinched when something warm pressed against his lips. A metal spoon of broth was pushed into his mouth, and he slurped at it greedily. It was rich and beefy, and it felt like heaven going down his raw throat. He was offered several more spoonfuls before it was replaced by a glass of cool water. He drank it down gratefully, trying not to think about how the man had hit him and manhandled him only a short time before. 

He was confused and unsure, but knew it was probably best not to question the food and water. He did not know when he would get either again, and that thought ate away at his numbness with a sharp, stabbing type of anxiety. What was going to happen to him? What did the man want? If he were wanted for nothing more than sex, when would the man grow tired of him? What would happen then? Would he be killed? Would the man do more with him? He had seen what men could do to each other, late at night on the holonet while he stayed in yet another hotel. His mother continued her campaign, coming back late and not even bothering to check in on him. He had been repulsed then, wrinkling his nose at the wet sounds and the moaning while he picked listlessly at room service food. 

Ben Solo watched with detachment as the man prepped a needle. He didn’t even flinch when he felt it poke into his arm, and whatever liquid it contained flooded his veins with a warm, quick burn. He felt his eyelids go even heavier, and his last thought was of his mother and how the last time he had seen her she had been disappointed in him, and even fearful, enough so that she had shipped him off to Luke with a distant “I love you”, not looking back as he cried and begged to stay with her. 

He was alone, without even the Force to cling to.


	2. As Above so Below

Khan observed the boy silently, his gaze trained on the thin, vulnerable form that was projected blurrily through the holo in front of him. He changed the angle when his own coat obscured the frightened brown eyes. Khan’s demeanor did not alter, even as the boy screamed from being soaked in scalding water, but he did lean forward slightly in his seat. 

Snoke laughed darkly, the sound echoing through the chamber with a metallic crackle.

“I see you are already taking advantage of what young Solo has to offer,” he commented with amusement.

“Yes,” Khan answered tonelessly, still watching the scene play out before him, his eyes glittering with a withheld emotion. 

“The boy comes from money. He knows nothing of going without. Perhaps…”

Khan already wasn’t listening; Snoke did have a tendency to prattle. Khan was already ahead of the Supreme Leader. The deformed man wore his arrogance heavily at all times, always heavy-handed and rash, acting with emotion rather than logic. Snoke seemed incapable of biding his time to any real extent, and Khan was genuinely surprised the man’s conceit where Solo was concerned hadn’t backfired. Snoke’s scarred face was testament enough to his poor judgment. But having read Solo’s rather extensive records, it was obvious that the boy would latch onto anything and everything, so desiring attention that it was likely his behavior would get him killed if not swiftly curtailed. Khan had plans for the teen, and he had already tired of Snoke’s meddling within the last several days. 

“I will do what I believe necessary,” Khan interrupted tightly, “just as we originally discussed. I understand your special interest in Solo. Despite his lineage, he will be easily controlled, his power harnessed. I will present him to you as a loyal servant, but it will require time and careful structure.” 

“See to it that you do,” Snoke answered with an edge of irritation. “He is vital to the future of the First Order.”

“Of course,” Khan responded, slightly bowing his head for effect. 

The connection with the Supreme Leader cut out then, and Khan smiled into the dark, watching Ben Solo writhe under his touch on the fuzzy holo. Yes, he had plans for the boy, though Snoke needn’t know the extent of them. It was to be an enjoyable project, he was sure, and the payout, though necessary, was no longer the sole reason for his involvement. Something was flitting at the edge of his conscience, warm and dark, as he observed the Solo boy. Work was not always without pleasure.

When Ben awoke, it was without cuffs. He was covered in a heavy blanket that smelled of smoke, reminding him of something that he couldn’t quite recall. His head felt heavy, and the slightest movements of his jaw made his eyes squeeze shut in pain. The room was warmer, and surprisingly not muggy from the impromptu shower. There was no way to tell how long he had been out. He carefully sat up, his vision filling with spots and making him even more dazed. He blinked back the tears that came without explanation, brow furrowing.  
He remembered before, with the soap, the shower… He shook his head, smacking himself in the temple the palm of his hand. No, he couldn’t think of that; it did no good to think of that. 

He was finally able to stand, though it was shakily. With the wool wrapped around his shoulders, it became clear it wasn’t a blanket at all. The man’s cloak. Ben’s fingers explored the fabric gingerly, feeling it scratch under his digits. With an impulsive movement, he jerked it from his shoulders, leaving it in a puddle on the ground as he made his way to the water dish. Much to his chagrin, it was welded to the metal floor. He knelt on his bruised knees, cupping his hands to take a drink.

“You are not to use your hands,” a voice spoke from somewhere above his head.

Ben flinched, drawing back to look upward at the ceiling. He saw no speaker, no indication that someone could communicate with him outside the room, but the twinge of metal to the voice made it clear that it was coming through electronically. 

“How…?” he spoke before he had the chance to think better of it.

The shock from the collar was so strong that he went completely limp, falling back onto floor, motionless. He gasped, hands reaching for the collar reflexively. He shook uncontrollably in the aftermath, his muscles twitching without his permission. It took several seconds for the spasms to subside, his breaths coming in hitched gasps.

“Don’t be foolish,” the electronic voice said with a crackle. “There will be a time and a place for questions. Now is not that time.”

Ben’s nostrils flared in anger, and he felt his hands curl into fists, but he did not move from his place on the floor. The temperature was rapidly decreasing in the room, making his skin break out in goosebumps. He shivered through his aching muscles, letting out a groan. 

“The better you behave, the more freedoms you will be allowed.”

That was it: his out. As soon as Ben heard the words, he felt a flutter of hope in his chest. If he wanted a chance at getting rid of the Force collar and getting to the man whose voice he heard each night or even Luke (as unpalatable as that was), he would need to get his captor on his side. He would need to earn his trust. 

Luke was unlikely to care much about the future of his nephew, but he would likely want a chance to stop a trafficking ring with connections to Force users. If anything, Luke would want to find him out of sheer loyalty to his sister, Leia. Luke did try to kill you, Ben reminded himself bitterly, so what reason would he have to care that you’ve been sold off like an animal for slaughter? But once again, there was no reason to think of such things; it did no good. Ben felt like he was about to cry again, the corners of his eyes prickling. He chided himself as he reached for the abandoned cloak, too cold to continue suffering without it. He went to the water bowl hesitantly, before kneeling down and bringing his lips to the liquid. It was messy and took a bit of finesse, but he managed not to lap at it like a dog. 

It was hours before anything happened again. Ben was laying listlessly on the floor, fingers tapping out a rhythm onto the cold metal. It was warmer than it had been, but still too cold to remove the cloak. His stomach growled desperately, not at all satiated by the broth from earlier, but the memory of it compelling his guts to begin working again. The cramping nearly made him wretch, and he had to lie completely still to ensure that the broth and water he had drunk stayed down for good. 

It was his bladder that forced him to sit up again, finally. He looked at the drain forlornly, then up to the ceiling where the voice had come from. It was obvious that his captor could see him, but finding where the cameras were was impossible. He saw no sign of anything, and sighed with resignation. He did not want to be scrubbed a second time for urinating on the floor. He looked around the room, but it was as empty as it had been, with nowhere to go to the bathroom. He considered using the water dish, but quickly dismissed it. 

Minutes ticked by. His abdomen was swollen with liquid, and every movement seemed to make it slosh dangerously in his bladder. He knew he wouldn’t make it much longer, but he hesitated to speak, terrified of the electric shock that might come, and if it did, there was no way he would be able to hold his urine. His hands clenched at his sides, and he felt tears sting at his eyes again. You’re pathetic, he thought viciously, angry at his emotional reaction. No wonder Luke wanted to be rid of you . . . .

“I—I need to use the bathroom,” he said into the silence, tensing up at his own voice and the way it cracked with emotion. 

Nothing happened. No shock. No voice. He stayed as still as he could, half out of fear, and half straining to listen. He could hear his own breathing, and somewhere, water was dripping. Fear coiled in his stomach, and he could feel his leg cramping from the lack of movement. 

“Please?” he asked, feeling the hot tears run down his cheeks. 

Ben hated himself in that moment, the way he crumpled and cried. He wasn’t even sure why. Han was right: he was nothing but a crybaby who whined or looked for his mother every time he didn’t get what he wanted. How long had it been since he had seen Han? How many years? Those words still cut him deeply, regardless of how much time had passed. 

Silence. It was several seconds before he heard a bang, and turned to see a bucket sitting by where the man had entered before. There was no sign of a door, but he knew it was opened externally. He rose and walked over to the bucket timidly, looking around before finally relieving himself. He was half expecting a shock, or the voice to echo out through the quiet, but there was nothing. He went back to lie in his spot, the cloak wrapped about his shoulders. 

The sound of the door sliding open and heavy boots made him jump. He turned around quickly, eyes wide, as his captor walked all the way into the room. Blue eyes met his own, before travelling down the length of his body. There was a small black case in the man’s hand, and he set it down lightly before standing over the boy with that same empty look in his eyes. No, maybe the look wasn’t empty, the boy amended. Ben watched the man with rapt attention, unable to look away. There was something there, something dark and strange, like when he had looked into that frightening, black maw during his training. Luke would wake him from those reveries, shaking him by the shoulders, demanding to know why he was so eager to seek out the dark. 

“You need an examination,” the man commented by way of explanation. 

Khan removed several things from the case, laying them out strategically. 

“Your arm,” he gestured. 

Ben extended it to him without protest, his brown eyes wide with fear. He was shaking, but the man said nothing, only roughly took his blood pressure and drew a few vials of blood. Next, his captor grabbed him by the face, opening his mouth and looking at his teeth, like farmers did when examining a bantha. Ben felt like one in that moment. The thin fingers caressed at his tongue, almost tickling, causing him to jerk unexpectedly. He was met with a stinging slap that made his ears ring. 

“Stay still. If I feel your teeth on my fingers, I will break your jaw. Do you understand?”

Ben nodded, blinking through tears. The fingers pushed into the back of his throat and he nearly gagged, eyes shutting tightly as he fought the urge to cough. 

“Good.”

The man released him. He did a full examination of the boy, from head to toe, paying special attention to Ben’s genitals. The teen tried not to move even while warm fingers pressed into his testicles and loosely pulled at his cock. It stirred somewhat, making Ben’s face redden as he looked over his captor’s shoulder. Shame burned through him when those same fingers began pushing around, the tip of one digit entering him with an ache of pain. He tried not to whimper. The hands left just as quickly. 

When the examination was through, everything was returned to the case. Ben considered reaching for one of the needles, but fear kept him glued in place. The man was strong, and he was scrawny and without the use of the Force. Ben knew he was no match, and that thought made him stay as he was. 

When the man stood over him, Ben felt a sense of relief, assuming he was leaving. But instead, his captor stepped closer, his hands cupping the boy’s face. Ben didn’t dare move, or even breathe. The hands rubbed at his jaw gently, at the bruises, then caressed at his throat and the metal collar there. A warm thumb brushed the edges of his lips, digging into the corner so that he was forced to open his mouth slightly. 

Ben could hear the clink of a belt, and he nearly bolted. The man snatched him by the hair, pressing the boy’s face into the placket of the black slacks. Ben could feel the outline of the man’s erection against his cheek. Tears fell in earnest, as Ben tensed and tried to pull away again, to no avail. He let out a strangled sob that was met with another slap to the side of his face. Ben wanted to beg, but he didn’t dare. He only shuddered and cried, as he felt something warm and hard trail wetly across his cheekbone.

The thumb was at the edge of his mouth again, prying his lips apart with a short fingernail. He pulled his face away in a miserable attempt at escape, only to have those deft fingers dig into his jaw, forcing him to open his lips. It was hotter than he thought it would be, and he could taste the saltiness of sweat and a vague muskiness. The skin was velvety and veined, and he could feel the head scraping his soft palette. He tried not to gag, but it happened, once, twice, which was followed by another slap that left him reeling. 

He began to suck in earnest, trying his best to keep his mouth open wide enough to not drag his teeth against the sensitive skin. It was almost too big to fit in his mouth, and his jaw already ached from having to open so wide. The cut inside his cheek began to bleed, leaving the taste of copper at the back of his throat. Precum kept dribbling onto his tongue, and he had to fight not to retch. Strong hands were buried in his hair, urging him forward, making him take more than he was capable. He coughed through the tears and mucus, feeling the head of the man’s cock as it tapped against the back of his throat. It was dragged away forcefully, allowing Ben a few choked gasps, before it pushed against his lips once more. It repeated again and again, for what seemed like an eternity. Ben focused on keeping his jaw open wide, and trying to breathe through his nose, but he felt lightheaded anyway. 

He could feel the spit dripping down his chin, and his throat felt raw from the intrusion. Everything about what was happening was wrong. But the hands rubbed gently at the back of his neck, under the collar, encouraging him even as he sputtered and struggled to breathe through his nose. The wet sound of his captor’s cock sliding between his lips sounded obscene. Ben let out a wretched cry when he was bodily jerked forward, his nose touching dark pubic hair that felt wiry against his skin. 

“You are doing very well Ben,” the man said, as Ben choked, eyes watering even through his tears. 

When it finally happened, Ben could feel it twitch. The resultant semen flooded his tongue unexpectedly, and he tried to pull his head away to get air, but instead ended up breathing it in wetly, holding in coughs like his life depended on it. It probably did. The cock pulsed a few more times, and finally the man pulled Ben’s head away, lips parted and eyes glittering as he took in the boy’s swollen mouth and mussed hair. 

The hands were back on his face again, lightly trailing down the angles. Khan smoothed Ben’s hair back, massaging his temples as he did so. He smiled thinly. 

“Your uncle could not see your potential, but I can.”

Ben was crying, and his throat felt like it was on fire. He could still taste the man in his mouth, a sort of bitterness lingering each time he swallowed. A look of confusion crossed his features at his captor’s words.

“I thought I was no one . . .” Ben said breathlessly, more tears tricking down his cheeks because he believed what he was saying. 

It was silent for a moment. Ben could feel a stab of sadness and loneliness dart through his chest as he contemplated just how alone he was, how hopeless his situation had become. 

“For now,” the man answered. 

Khan zipped and buttoned his pants, leaving young Ben Solo behind, red-faced, chin wet with saliva.


End file.
